A Song in the Night

by Julie Maria Peace

  “Sorry about that. I’m forgetting myself.” He looked slightly embarrassed and grinned. “Anyway, I’m Jonathon. And you are …?”

  “Rosie.”

  Jonathon nodded. “Well, I’m very sorry, Rosie – about your fall. I have to say I feel partly responsible.”

  Rosie frowned. “Why? It wasn’t your fault.” Not unless you’re some psycho that goes around laying tripwire to leg up unsuspecting victims.

  Jonathon ran a filthy hand through his tousled hair. “Well, not directly maybe. But I’m a bit behind schedule with everything. I’d planned to get in first thing this morning and have all this cleared by lunchtime. But my car started playing up – I didn’t get here until after ten. I’ve been ringing round trying to get someone to have a look at it. You know how hard it is just before Christmas, everywhere’s booked up solid …”

  Rosie looked blank. What on earth was this guy on about?

  Jonathon gazed around the churchyard with a gloomy expression. “Wow, there’s far more to go at than I realised. This is gonna take me a good two days by the looks of things.” He seemed to be thinking out loud.

  Rosie suddenly clicked. “Are you the gardener or something?”

  Jonathon shook his head. “Not exactly. Our regular guy broke his leg back in the summer and he’s been having a lot of trouble with it. Things have got a bit overgrown here. I offered to help out – y’know, spruce the place up for Christmas. Unfortunately for you, I hadn’t got round to this bit yet.” He grinned as though something had just occurred to him. “Hey, you didn’t think I normally went round dressed like this, did you?”

  Now it was Rosie’s turn to smile. “Well, I did wonder …” That’s a relief. At least this guy’s not as barmy as he looks.

  Jonathon slapped his dirty hands together several times as if to try and get rid of some of the filth. “Eric – that’s the gardener – he told me to make sure I wore my oldest clothes, and I’m glad I did. I’ve been tidying up some of the graves round the back there. Y’know, the really ancient ones that nobody ever visits. It’s a never-ending task once you start. I was just raking leaves when I saw you fall.” He looked down at the ground where Rosie was still sitting. “I reckon that’s what you slipped on. Leaves. They can be pretty nasty when there’s been a frost.”

  Rosie shivered as she suddenly realised how cold she was.

  Jonathon frowned. “Look, there’s a bench over there. Do you think you can make it?” He pointed to a wooden seat a few yards from them. “We really ought to get you off this cold ground before you catch something.”

  Rosie managed to get to her feet, and with quiet encouragement from Jonathon she made it to the bench. Her back felt sore and her ankle slightly sprained, but she was sure it was nothing that a hot bath wouldn’t sort out. As they sat on the seat, their breath steaming in the frosty air, Jonathon turned to her, a curious expression on his face. “You’re not from round here, are you, Rosie? We don’t get many strangers in Ridderch Standen.”

  Strangers – that’s nice. First he leaves stuff all over the place for me to break my neck on, then he insults me. She smiled. “No, I’m from London.”

  “That’s a London accent?” Jonathon looked puzzled.

  “Not entirely.” Oh boy. Where do I begin? “I’m actually Irish. But we moved to England when I was a little girl. Leicester actually. When I was sixteen I moved to London – been there ever since.” Why on earth am I telling you all this? I hardly know you.

  Jonathon nodded. “I see. So what brings you here?”

  Rosie dug her hands into her pockets as she gazed across the churchyard. Do I tell him that my sister-in-law’s got terminal cancer and one of her dying wishes is for us all to be together up here for Christmas?

  She decided to simplify. If he was gardening for the place, he must be part of the church. Therefore –

  “Do you know Ed and Cassie Simmons?”

  Jonathon smiled. “Oh yes. I’ve known them years.”

  Good. This should be straightforward then. “Well, my brother’s married to their daughter.”

  Jonathon’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean Beth?”

  Rosie nodded. “We’re all spending Christmas together.”

  “Ah right, I understand.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “How is Beth? I was terribly shocked when I heard about her illness. I know her two brothers very well. How’s she coping with it all?”

  Rosie shrugged. “Well, she’s on plenty of medication to help control her symptoms, so I guess that bit’s okay for the time being. As for all the rest of it – I have to say she’s doing brilliantly, considering.” It didn’t seem much of an answer but Rosie wasn’t sure how to elaborate further. Somehow, trying to speak on Beth’s behalf felt a little awkward.

  Jonathon smiled sadly. “Bless her. I was at school with her, y’know. Really nice girl. Very talented too. She was in the school orchestra.” He looked genuinely upset.

  Rosie didn’t know what to say. She looked down at her knees, wishing she could think of something to make the moment less uncomfortable. She rubbed her gloved hands together as if to warm them. “Guess I’d better go and let you get on with your work. I’ve taken up enough of your time already.”

  Jonathon lifted his head, and for a moment they looked at each other. It was only for the shortest time and then he turned away. But in those few seconds she couldn’t help noticing the deep blue of his eyes, and the kindness in them.

  He gave a slight cough. “I think I might come down to this bit and make a start. The leaves are pretty bad down here. Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

  Grateful for the change of subject, Rosie assured him she would be.

  Jonathon rubbed his hands together purposefully. “I’ll go get my rake then.” He pointed to the marble monument. “See the memorial there. We have an old guy in the church whose dad died in the Great War. Don’t think he ever got to meet him, mind. He was just a baby at the time. But he brings a wreath every Christmas – folks say he’s never missed a year. I’d hate him to fall like you did. I don’t think he could take it.”

  Rosie gave a little laugh. “Suppose that was my good deed for the day then, eh – alerting you to the hazard?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it,” Jonathon grinned.

  Rosie suddenly frowned. “Is it a First World War memorial, did you say? I didn’t take much notice while I was down there.”

  Jonathon stood up. “Come and have a look. There are two panels. One for each of the world wars.”

  Rosie stood to her feet and began to follow him. She walked slowly at first, testing every footstep. It was a relief to her to find that she could get along quite well. When she got to the monument, Jonathon was gazing up at it intently.

  “Here, Rosie, this is the First World War side. There are far more names on this one.”

  Rosie counted. Twenty-seven names to be precise. She scanned some of them. Pte. Walter Birkinshaw. Sapper Harold Ellis. Pte. James Henry Link. 2nd Lt. Albert Spears –

  Jonathon’s voice interrupted her. “Pte. William Rowney. That’s him – y’know, the old guy’s dad I was telling you about.” He pointed to the name on the monument. “He was a gunner apparently.”

  Rosie nodded slowly. “Sad, isn’t it?” she found herself saying. “So many men from such a small village.” She was thinking about Wilf, and his mate, and the German boy. Multiplied by millions. Every village in Britain must have one of these. And Europe. And beyond.

  “Are you interested in history then, Rosie?” Jonathon ventured.

  Rosie was quiet for a moment. Not as a rule. Usually avoid it like the plague. But since I came across Sam and his buddies …

  She rubbed her arms against the cold. “I guess you could say I’m developing an interest. The thing is, Beth recently came across something in an old bookshop. A First World War diary – written by a soldier out on the Western Front. She found it by accident really. It’s quite detailed. Gives a pretty good picture
of what things were like out there.”

  Jonathon’s eyes widened. “Wow, Rosie, I wouldn’t mind taking a look at that. Do you think she’d let me see it?”

  As she heard the boyish eagerness in his voice, Rosie felt a sudden, inexplicable pride at being temporary custodian of Sam’s grimy notebook. “Actually, I have it at the moment. Beth gave it to me while she was in hospital, for safekeeping. I’ve been typing up the entries and passing them on to her. Beth really wanted to get it all printed up so that we’d have a permanent copy. Y’know, with the diary being so old and everything. I’m only part way through; it’ll take me a while yet to finish.”

  Jonathon looked truly impressed. “You’ve got a treasure there, Rosie. That kinda thing’s like gold dust. Some people would snap your hand off for something like that.”

  Rosie smiled to herself. He was beginning to sound like Beth.

  Jonathon took a step towards the monument. “See this guy …” Proudly, he ran his finger under one of the names. “He was my great, great –” He hesitated a moment. “I think there might be another great in there somewhere – anyway, uncle. I believe he was only in his mid-twenties when he died. About my age, I guess.”

  Oh boy, thought Rosie as she moved closer to take a look. I’ve really got him going. Now he’s starting to sound like Mr Lowry.

  She peered at the name. Pte. Philip Matthew Bocking. She frowned. Private Philip Matthew …?

  “Rosie! Rosie!”

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice calling out from somewhere at the top of the churchyard. She spun round to see Ciaran waving to her. She turned to Jonathon. “It’s my brother. I bet he thought I’d got lost.” She waved back. “I’d better go. They’re probably all waiting for me.”

  A momentary look of disappointment passed over Jonathon’s face. Then he quickly smiled. “Yes – you’d better go. It’s been nice meeting you, Rosie. Might see you again perhaps, before you go back …”

  Rosie wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. She hesitated for a second, then returned his smile. “Yeah, perhaps. Thanks for your help and everything. Bye.”

  Feeling slightly self-conscious, she thrust her hands into her pockets and began to make her way towards Ciaran. When she reached him, Ciaran had a quizzical expression on his face.

  “You okay, Ros? I wondered where you’d got to.”

  “Yeah.” Rosie kept her head down. Why am I colouring up? This is so not like me. “Just took a bit of a tumble, that’s all. I’m okay though. Didn’t break anything.”

  Ciaran nodded thoughtfully. “So who’s the guy?”

  Rosie could see that he was trying to stifle a smile. She hadn’t seen him smile in ages. She tried to play it cool. “He’s the stand-in gardener. He came to my rescue when I fell over and nearly ruptured myself.”

  Ciaran grinned. “Ouch!”

  To Rosie’s relief he didn’t mention Jonathon again. They joined the others and went back to Oak Lodge for lunch. Later that afternoon, Rosie helped Cassie with some food shopping.

  “Only three more days to Christmas, Rosie,” Cassie puffed as they loaded bags into the car. “Are you all ready for it?”

  “Just about,” Rosie answered tentatively.

  It was true. She’d got all her presents, except one. Beth’s. She was really struggling with Beth’s. What would be appropriate? What would I want if I only had months to live? She sighed. This had to be the most difficult gift she’d ever had to buy. Whatever I decide to go for, I’ve only a couple of days to get it sorted. I need to give it some serious thought.

  She knew Ciaran was planning to go shopping in Northallerton the following day. She’d just have to cadge a lift with him and hope for some inspiration.

  That night in bed, she picked up Sam’s diary again. As she read the words, she couldn’t help picturing the dirty young man in the churchyard with his deep blue eyes and unkempt hair.

  Poperinghe Billets October 26th 1916

  Glad to be out of Zillebeke. We weren’t there too long, but things were getting pretty lively just before we were relieved. Right at the last minute we lost a man from our platoon – a chap called O’Grady. I’ll be honest, Em, I didn’t much care for him. He was a sour-tempered fellow with a rather coarse way about him. Still, it’s never pleasant to see a man go west, no matter how much you might dislike him. You could say he was unlucky. As the relief troops were coming down, a bit of shrapnel came over into the trench and got him in the chest. He screamed out at first, then began to make the most horrible gurgling sound. When I saw the blood coming out of his mouth, I knew it was bad. But imagine our shock when he suddenly clawed his way up onto the firestep and started trying to shout obscenities at the enemy. A sniper got him straight through the throat and he fell back in on top of us. For a few moments we stood staring down at him as he lay there with his eyes wide open and a look of awful rage still on his face. After a couple of minutes, Boxer closed O’Grady’s eyes and turned to me. Then in the quietest voice he said, “Make sure you don’t die like that, Sam.”

  I knew what he was getting at, Em. Boxer’s a great fellow, but I must confess, sometimes he unnerves me. He has a way of saying things which can really put the wind up a chap. He hasn’t mentioned O’Grady again, and I have to say, I’m glad.

  ____________

  Feeling tired and still a little sore from her fall, Rosie switched off the lamp. She needed to be up early next morning to set off shopping with Ciaran. As she curled up for sleep, her mind went back over the events of the day. She thought about Jonathon and smiled. It made her cringe slightly to think he’d actually seen her go flying. Ah well, she consoled herself. At least he’ll have given the place a good going-over because of it. The old man should be safe enough when he goes to lay his wreath.

  Her eyes grew heavy and she started to drift off. A few moments later, however, she came round with a jolt. Of course! That was where she’d seen the name before …

  Private Philip Matthew Bocking.

  Boxer.

  Chapter 14

  It was late on Christmas Eve and Saint Edwin’s was packed. The atmosphere buzzed with the sound of chatter and muted excitement. Rosie looked down at her watch. Ten fifty-four; another six minutes to go. She turned to Ciaran at her side. He was staring straight ahead, his face a picture of grim sobriety. She guessed he was feeling as uncomfortable as she was. Fancy us two sitting together in a church, she mused. It seemed an awful long time since they had.

  Beth had been determined to come tonight, even though she’d had to spend the afternoon in bed just to build up the strength. This was part of her Christmas, she’d insisted. An old family tradition – something she’d never missed when she was living at home. ‘You’ll come too, won’t you, Ros?’ she’d entreated. ‘I’m sure you’d enjoy it.’ Rosie hadn’t had the heart to refuse. And so here they all were, sitting, waiting. It isn’t like I’ve never set foot in a church before, Rosie told herself as her heart thumped nervously. How hard can it be?

  At precisely eleven o’clock, Tim Fitzpatrick walked to the front of the church and greeted the congregation. He announced that the service was to begin with a selection of carols. Rosie was determined to steel herself this time. She didn’t want a repetition of the ‘Away in a Manger’ episode. As the organ began to belt out the music, she kept her eyes fixed on her song sheet and mimed along to the words as convincingly as she could. It would be far too embarrassing to let Ciaran hear her actually singing, she reasoned to herself. Nevertheless, she was amazed at the volume of song coming from the rest of the congregation, and slightly disconcerted at the enthusiasm of certain folk in the rows in front of her. She tried to think about something else. All her Christmas presents were wrapped, she’d washed her hair – she’d even found time to put on some nail polish. Why is the guy two rows ahead waving his hands about in the air?

  She’d settled on a lava lamp for Beth. Apparently they were very therapeutic, or so the man in the shop had said. Why are all t
hese people jumping up and down to a Christmas carol? Come to think of it, was it a Christmas carol? It wasn’t one she’d ever heard before.

  She tried to get her mind back onto lava lamps. She’d nearly gone for a hippopotamus filled with wheat and lavender – the kind you put in the microwave to warm up. Beth felt the cold these days. Oh boy, now they look like they’re gonna do a Mexican wave.

  Rosie tried to sneak a glance at Ciaran. It looked like he was miming too. If he’d noticed the strange characters in front, he certainly wasn’t letting on. She forced her eyes back to the song sheet and tried to concentrate. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Tim Fitzpatrick came to the rescue. He asked everyone to take their seats and then made a couple of announcements.

  “Tomorrow morning – Christmas Day – we’ll be meeting here at ten o’clock. Just for an hour. Everyone’s welcome … if you can tear yourself away from all your presents! It’s good to share the day with the Lord.”

  Rosie grimaced to herself. Think I’ll give that one a miss. Some of this lot must spend half their lives sat in church.

  The service went on. Rosie was surprised to hear some Bible readings which she vaguely recognised from years ago. She remembered sitting like this in a Catholic church in Wicklow, and in later times, another one in Leicester. Every Christmas Eve their mother had taken them along to midnight Mass. It was their only church visit in the year. “Father Christmas won’t come if you don’t go to Mass,” she’d warned gravely. And so they’d complied. One Christmas Eve, it had occurred to Rosie to ask why he came to all the other kids at school who never ventured near a church. Her mother had brushed the question aside with a cursory reply. “It’s different for Catholics,” she’d said. And it had been different again once Mickey had come onto the scene. One year, he’d come into church straight from the pub and joined them on the back row, halfway through the service. Rosie shuddered as she remembered. She’d been sitting at the end, and they’d all had to move up to squeeze him in. How she’d hated it. So close to him. Smelling the drink on his breath, and that horrible odour, so sickeningly familiar. Had her mother ever realised? Had she ever suspected, even slightly? Rosie’s mouth tightened into a thin line as she thought about it. No. She couldn’t have. She might have been dysfunctional at times, but she wasn’t cruel. She was just blinded.